


Wrong & Right

by popfly



Category: Queer as Folk (US) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-13
Updated: 2004-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly





	Wrong & Right

I passed someone on the street the other day that was wearing his aftershave. I was watching the cracks in the sidewalk disappear under my shoes when I smelled it. Vaguely pine, which surprised me the first time I smelled it on him. I had cracked then that something so pretty shouldn’t smell so woodsy and he’d deadpanned something back about nature being beautiful and I had punched him in the arm. We’d only known each other for an hour. Then, in front of the second hand bookstore, I smelled it again. And I could’ve sworn it was like a visible line, like in a cartoon, swirling under my nose and drawing my head around. But the guy was too tall and the hair too brown and my heart fell from the height it had leapt to and resumed its beat dejectedly. I watched not-him walk away for a moment before continuing on down the street. And I missed him so much that I ached with it.

That night I ventured out to the bar that we’d frequented during filming, the tiny hole-in-the-wall with the apartment above it that had pink curtains in the windows, except now the curtains were blue and didn’t flutter even though the windows were open and there was a wind. I sat at our table and ordered a pitcher of beer for myself, pulling my hat down as low as possible and keeping my eyes on the white of my napkin as it lay beneath my plastic cup. And then it happened. Randy Travis on the jukebox, “Forever and Ever, Amen.” The song that he swore would kill him every time one of the fat old guys would play it. He’d roll his eyes and heave one of his huge sighs and proclaim that Randy Travis made him want to put sharp things in his eyes, or maybe his ears, or something equally dramatic, but he’d sing along under his breath when he thought I wasn’t paying attention and I could definitely feel the toe of his sneaker tapping the leg of the table. While I replayed the memories in my head a couple got up to dance and the woman had hair like his, or she would if she washed all of the hairspray out of it. Then I was hit with another memory, the slip of his hair through my fingers and I swigged my beer too fast, making me cough and splutter, and I left the pitcher of beer half-empty, tugging my jacket around me as I left.

Why the fuck did I come here? Toronto feels cold to me, even in spring and Jenna was calling my cell every three fucking seconds. My hotel room was small and the sheets chafed my ass and everywhere I went I was reminded of him. Back home in L.A. there were three scripts to be read through, an impatient agent, and a confused woman who’d been sleeping in my bed an awful lot lately, and so many places that we’d never been because when he came into town we spent all of our time on my couch, knees touching, talking non-stop and we never got up to *do* anything. Yet here I was, wandering the streets, hands stuffed deep in my pockets, counting street lights. And he and whoever-the-fuck were probably cozy in their apartment, reading pretentious novels and feeding each other strawberries. So *why* the *fuck* was I *here*?

When someone in front of me in line at the deli the next day ordered artichoke and Swiss on sourdough, I had enough. Who the fuck ate that shit? Him and this redhead in the denim jacket. I locked myself in the bathroom and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I ignored the blinking that signaled I had a voice mail or probably multiple voice mails and held down the button that would auto-dial your number. I paced as it rang.

“Hey, it’s Randy. If you’re absolutely sure I want to talk to you, leave a message. But make it short. I hate voice mail.” I chuckled to myself nervously, but sobered as soon as the beep sounded in my ear. “Uh, hey, uh, Randy, it’s me. Er, it’s Gale, you know.” Oh brilliant man. Just fucking brilliant. “Um, I’m, um, well, I’d just like to talk to you, you know? So, um, uh, well. Call me, I guess. You know. Okay. Well, uh, bye then. Or, yeah, no, bye.” I jabbed at the end button and met my eyes in the mirror. “You, my friend, are a fucking eloquent man. Genius, fucking eloquent man.” I sneered at myself and left, glaring at the sandwich girl before shoving out the door.

When he called me back he naturally made total fun of me and my extensive vocabulary and killer verbal skills. I naturally told him to fuck off and then we got down to business.

“Gale, where are you?”

A bus had just rumbled by and since he didn’t know I wasn’t home I could’ve said any street name, but my mouth didn’t always keep up with my brain, especially when it came to Randy. “Toronto,” I said, grimacing even as the word snuck out.

There was a silence on the other end and I resisted the urge to bang my head on the stop sign pole. “Why are you in Toronto?”

I bristled at the tone of his voice. “Don’t fucking talk to me like I’m five.”

“Jesus, Gale.” He sighed the sigh that meant he thought he knew exactly what I was doing. He probably did. We were a lot like our characters in that way. I squeezed my eyes shut and used my free hand to light a cigarette.

“Jenna’s been calling me non-stop.” I pinched the bridge of my nose with the fingers that weren’t holding the cigarette and cleared my throat. “I kind of left without really saying much.”

“Much?”

“Anything at all.” I held the smoke in my lungs like it was pot then watched it dissipate as I exhaled. “It’s cool, for April.”

“You’re always cold when you’re up there.”

I could hear him grin. 

"Randy, I miss you.”

I could hear him frown.

“Gale . . .”

“Can I come see you?”

“Gale. Call Jenna. Go home.”

I found a bench and sat down, hard. Home. I scoffed. “Home.”

“Yes, home. You know, the place where you live?”

“Home is where the heart is,” I mumbled, scraping the cement with the heel of my boot.

“What?”

“Nothing. Look, home doesn’t feel right.” I let my head fall back. It was a clear night, no clouds, and you could actually see the stars. “Nothing feels right. Jenna certainly doesn’t.”

“So why are you with her?”

I pictured her in my head. But her features kept morphing. Her eyes would go from brown to blue and her hair would shorten and lighten. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. So you don’t want to be with the person you’re with, you don’t want to live in the place where you live, but wandering around Toronto alone at night feels right to you?”

“I’m not wandering. I’m sitting down.” I sounded like a petulant child. Hell, I felt like a petulant child. Conversations with Randy in real life never went the way they went in my head. I was someone else around him. Or maybe I was someone else when I wasn’t. “Look, Randy, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I was home, and then I was driving and then I was in Toronto. And the guy was wearing your aftershave and “Forever and Ever, Amen” was on at the bar and then the redhead at the deli ordered your sandwich and I just had to call.”

There was another silence, and I could tell Randy was trying to process everything that I had just said. Then, “I switched aftershaves.”

“What?”

“I switched aftershaves.”

My mouth worked like a fish but no words came out. For some reason this news hit me like a bullet, hard and burning. “Why?”

“Simon must have been allergic to the old one or something. It made him sneeze like crazy.”

Simon. “But . . . ” I trailed off. Randy was supposed to smell like pine. “What does the new one smell like?”

“Soap, I guess. Clean. Manly.” He chuckled.

Soap? I was appalled. “That’s all wrong!”

“What the fuck does it matter what aftershave I wear?”

Good question. My throat constricted and I sucked in a breath. “I guess it doesn’t.”

“Gale, do you want me to come there?”

I wanted to scream ‘Yes! Please!’ but I swallowed the words. “No. I’m fine. Later.” And I hung up. Then I stared at the phone to see if he would call back. He didn’t.

“Hit me again,” I said, knocking the bottom of my glass on the bar. The bartender eyed me warily as he poured; I ignored him and left my money on the coaster. I stood in front of the jukebox, the light hurting my eyes, and fed it quarters, pressing the same four numbers over and over again. Then I took my seat at the table, swaying just slightly, and I got thoroughly drunk while Randy Travis repeated himself through the speakers, while even the fat, old drunk men grumbled and sent glares my way. They’d been far more solicitous the night before when I’d come in after the stupid Randy conversation and done the same thing. I guess one night was okay but two nights was just unacceptable. I took another drink.

“Oh, Gale.”

When I heard his voice I didn’t even look up. I just snorted mirthlessly into my umpteenth drink. “I should’ve known you’d show up,” I slurred, my head lolling. “Coming to the rescue?” I tried to fix him with a glare, but I didn’t know which Randy to focus on. “Are you my knight in shining,” I snorted again, “turtleneck sweater?”

“Oh, are we playing Brian tonight? How charming.” He leaned down close and slid an arm around me. “Now get the fuck up.”

The Brian comment stung, so I let him stuff my arms into the sleeves of my jacket and help me out onto the sidewalk. He propped me up against the wall and lit a cigarette. I followed suit, taking three tries to get the lighter lit and the tip of the cigarette into the flame, then watched my cherry glowing orange against the black of the night. “So, why’d you come?”

He smiled knowingly, blowing smoke up at the sky. “Cos I knew you were freaking out.”

“I am not.” My head rolled against the brick, my hair snagging and pulling. I barely felt it.

Randy just nodded, still grinning. Then he got serious and took a step forward. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I exhaled sharply, flicking ash onto the ground, onto the top of my shoe. I kicked a little, trying to shake it off, and lost my balance. I stumble-stepped to the right and then backed my ass to the wall, my shoulders slumped forward. “I think I’m freaking out.”

Randy stared at me for a minute before breaking into all-out laughter.

“Oh, that’s funny?” He pressed his lips together and his shoulders shook and he coughed once, then twice, and looked serious again. Which of course made me laugh, and soon we were both bent over with our hands on our knees trying to catch out breath. I straightened up first, holding my head, panting slightly. “I’m glad the sorry state of my psyche is so amusing.”

“Hey,” he said, still grinning. “You laughed too.” I put another hand to my head and gave him my best pathetic look, which being drunk and again, in a sorry state, I’m sure I pulled off quite nicely. He shook his head and looked down the street before meeting my eyes again. “Wanna go get something to eat?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I guess. Or some coffee at least.”

“Are you okay to walk by yourself, or do I have to drag your heavy ass?”

“I am not that heavy.” I straightened away from the wall, testing myself. The cold and the laughter and probably just him had brought me down enough that I could at least walk, or stagger as the case may be. “You’re just wimpy.”

“I’ll kick your ass,” he stated, turning away.

I ignored that comment and followed him down the street. The familiar blue neon of the late night restaurant (we refuse to call them diners) buzzed not too far off, and I breathed deep to clear my head. Randy walked a couple of steps ahead of me and then I smelled it. Something vaguely pine. My heart clutched and my breath hitched. Randy turned his head.

“Gale?”

“Your aftershave.”

His cheeks were already pink and it was dark but I swear he blushed. “Oh. Yeah. I thought,” he trailed off and shrugged. “Familiarity, you know. You seemed so upset about it. And Simon’s not here.”

I just nodded, dumbstruck. Things had been shaking moments before that weren’t now. I held out my hand and looked down at it. Yep. No movement. I looked back up. “I’m hungry.”

He let out his breath with a whoosh. “Okay.” And he continued walking.

The waitress took our empty plates and left us with refilled coffee cups. There hadn’t been much talk while we ate, but now that the food was gone things would have to be said. Randy’d come all the way to Toronto and it sure as hell wasn’t for a greasy grilled cheese and a mediocre slice of apple pie. I wrapped my hands around the ivory porcelain mug and felt the warmth seep into my skin. I couldn’t look at Randy yet, so I watched the clock on the opposite wall count seconds. One, two, three.

“Gale.”

Six, seven, eight.

“Gale.”

“Yeah?” I didn’t take my eyes off the clock. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen.

"Gale, you’re going to have to look at me eventually.”

It was bright in there. I finally looked away from the clock but instead of meeting Randy’s eyes I glanced back at the kitchen area, watching the cook take a wire basket of fries out of the grease. Then I watched as another packet of Sweet ‘N’ Low dissolved into my coffee, the white granules falling from the pink packet and disappearing into swirling liquid. I took a sip and grimaced. What was the line of that song that Jenna listens to all the time? “The coffee is just water dressed in brown.”

“Huh?”

My eyes snapped up and I almost had to shut them against the brightness of his. I didn’t know that I’d said it out loud. “Oh. It’s just, it’s a lyric from a song."

“Ani DiFranco. Yeah, I know it.”

“Jenna listens to that song all the time, and I just thought of it. I didn’t know I was thinking out loud.”

Randy nodded. Then he leaned across the table, sliding his folded hands into his chest and propping his upper body on them. “You wanna tell me now what the fuck is going on?”

“No.” But it came out more like a question and anyone would be helpless under a glare like Randy’s. I lifted the mug to my mouth but didn’t drink, just pressed the rim against my bottom lip. “I’m not exactly sure why I’m freaking out.” My teeth clinked a little against the mug and I lowered it, pushing it away. I reached for the silverware but I knew I was going to play with it and that it was going to annoy Randy – how could he sit so still? – so I rocked side to side to tuck my fingers under my thighs. “I think it has a little to do with the show ending, and a little to do with letting Jenna get close to me, and a little to do with you.” My eyes got wide. I really needed to try and control what came out of my mouth.

Randy nodded once and sat back, draping one arm along the back of the booth and pressing the index finger of his other hand against his lips. He wanted me to go on, but I didn’t know what else to say. I need prompts. I needed questions. Randy picked up on this and took his finger away from his mouth. “Okay. How does it have to do with the show ending?”

“Don’t you feel it?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’m ready for it to end.”

“I know, but still. It’s a little like high school. You wait and wait for graduation cos you want to get the fuck out of there and then when it’s over you have to do something and what if you don’t know what to do?”

“Gale. You can do theater. You can do more movies. You can do whatever you want.”

“But what do I want?”

“Good question, Gale.” He stared off over my shoulder for a moment before coming back to me. “Okay, how does it have to do with Jenna?”

I grimaced, feeling a throbbing in my temples. “I think I’ve been using her.” Amazing the clarity that comes at two in the morning when you’re sobering up and Randy Harrison is sitting across the Formica table staring you down. He gestured for me to continue. “She thinks we’re in love. She thinks we’re committed. She thinks that everything is all fantastic when in reality, I just let her stay over so I don’t have to explain why I don’t want her to, and I tell her that I love her because I don’t want to deal with her after she says it and I don’t respond, and I pretend like everything’s okay because it’s easier than admitting that it’s not. Cos if I don’t stay with her than I have no one and someone is better than no one, right? Even if this someone isn’t really anyone? And especially not the one.” I pulled one of my hands free and pressed a fingertip to my temple.

“Okay. How does it have to do with me?”

I massaged my temple and bit my lip. “Well, that kind of came out without any thought behind it, so would you mind if we save that for tomorrow?”

“Sure.” He slid out of the booth and dropped a bill on the table. “Let’s go."

I woke up with the hangover from hell. Not that that was surprising after the copious amounts of alcohol I ingested the night before. My head was pounding and I was sick to my stomach. Of course the nausea could also be due to the fact that at some point in the night I’d woken up sweating and shaking from the first wet dream I’d had since I was fifteen. The object of which had been Randy.

I swallowed four aspirin and chugged a plastic cup of lukewarm tap water and looked at myself in the mirror. I’d had dreams about Randy before. Randy kissing me, Randy’s dick up my ass, Randy’s mouth on my cock, but I’d always associated them with the show, with Brian and Justin, and I’d never woken up with come on my stomach and the bed sheets. This time had been different. Besides the obvious me-getting-off thing, something about the dream felt different. Felt more real.

Needless to say by the time noon actually came around I was a little strung out.

Randy came in with a cautious smile and two cups of coffee. “Black,” he assured me, taking the lid off of one and handing it to me. I nodded and pulled a corner of my mouth up into my cheek by way of thanks. I was on the floor with my back to the bed, my legs sprawled out in front of me. I took a mouthful of the hot liquid and felt it burn my tongue a little before I swallowed. I let my head fall back and Randy kicked off his shoes, coming down cross-legged next to me. I felt the sole of his foot against my thigh and took a short breath.

“So,” Randy said, trailing his index finger around the rim of his coffee cup. I tried not to watch.

“So.”

“Ready to talk?”

I coughed out a laugh. “No.”

“Too bad.” He smiled merrily at me and I had to chuckle. Leave it up to him to be exceptionally bright-eyed and chipper on a morning when I felt like I’d had the shit kicked out of me. “How do you feel?” He was suddenly serious and the transition caught me slightly off guard.

“Well,” I hedged, letting my brain catch up. “Less drunk.” Randy tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “The same.”

He nodded. “Tell me what I have to do with you freaking out.”

A moment of silence passed and I tried to catch one of the thoughts that was racing through my head but I was too hung over. I drank more coffee and hoped the aspirin would kick in soon and hoped Randy would speak but the only sounds he was making were swallowing and scraping of fingernails on stubbly skin as he scratched his chin. “I,” I started, then decided against it. “You,” I tried again, but that wasn’t going to work either. I sighed. “Christ. I don’t know what the fuck I meant when I said that.”

“Hm.” Randy finished his coffee and tossed the cup into the trashcan near the door. I blinked when the Styrofoam hit the plastic bag, and almost didn’t catch the next words out of Randy’s mouth. “Could it have to do with you being in love with me?”

I thought about being floored by the question. I pictured myself in my head doing something ridiculous like spilling my coffee or jumping up and yelling or making some sarcastic rejoinder that would make Randy feel like an idiot for even considering it but those thoughts passed and left in their wake the stark realization that the only answer to that question was yes. I choked out a laugh and then before I knew it I was on my side on the floor, guffawing into the default-beige carpet, holding my ribs with one hand and my stomach with the other, a tear slipping out of the corner of my eye. Randy was on his knees in a second, a palm hovering over my shoulder, looking concerned. Although I guess if I was in his shoes, or his socks as it were, I would be too.

“Gale?”

I planted the hand that had been on my side on the floor and shoved myself back into a sitting position, wiping my eyes. “Oh man,” I said, still half-giggling. My voice was high and panicky, and the giggling fit died, leaving me feeling trembly and hollow. “Oh man,” I said again.

Randy sat back on his heels, his fists on his knees. “So it does, then?"

“I guess so.”

He nodded some more, but the motion looked more like the accompaniment to deep thought than any kind of reciprocity, which was worrisome enough without the words “I LOVE RANDY” scrolling in my head like one of those silly customizable screen savers. Trying to stop the image of his face from being burned onto the backs of my eyelids. Like I didn’t see him everywhere anyway, and why hadn’t that meant more to me before this?

“Randy?” I stopped myself from asking what he was thinking; it was something women constantly asked me and it constantly bugged the shit out of me.

“Gale.” He bit his lip and I had the sudden horrible thought that he was going to tell me that he loved me too, but we were just friends, and he had Simon when my thought was interrupted by Randy’s mouth on mine and it was wet and hot and new and the same all at once and I didn’t have time to think about kissing him back before the contact was over. And then all I knew was that I had to have it back and I crushed my lips so hard to his that I must’ve bruised him but he wasn’t complaining unless I was misinterpreting the little moans in the back of his throat and his tongue pushed against mine and my hands were in his hair and his fingers were digging into my thighs and I couldn’t breathe but I couldn’t pull away.

Then he did, his eyes glassy and the pale skin around his lips looking red and he panted a little but didn’t let go of my legs. “Christ Gale.”

I was feeling dizzy and my chin was raw from his and then I noticed that my headache was gone.

“Christ,” he said again, rubbing the corner of his mouth with the side of his pinky. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, just kept staring at him, my mouth open slightly, wishing I could be smooth and suave and something other than completely dumbfounded. He looked around the room a couple of times and then back at me. I licked my lips and cleared my throat.

“Yeah.”

“So, I’m thinking we should save the discussion for later?”

The look on his face was so exaggeratedly eager that I almost laughed, but I figured that might kill the mood, and oh shit, there was a mood. My heart thudded in my chest and I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t want to talk either, and especially not when I could be kissing Randy instead. And it was at that moment that I decided not to think anymore. And instead I was just going to do. So I kissed him again.

Clothing was tugged off and tossed aside, hands on skin and mouths on skin and the air getting hot and charged and my dick getting so hard it hurt. Randy made noises Justin had never made and that alone made me gasp and shake and when we were both completely naked and on our knees, chests pressed together and Randy’s fingers in my hair, I rasped out his name and he growled deep in his throat and reached behind him for his bag. After a brief moment of rummaging he came up with a condom and a tube of lube.

“Gale, you have to be completely sure because this is the point of no return.”

I glanced down at my dick, leaking against his stomach and arched a brow at him. He dipped his head to rub his lips against my neck, leaving a moist trail up to my jaw, and my head dropped back. I felt his breath hot in the hollow behind my ear before I heard the words, and even after I heard them I wasn’t entirely sure that I really *heard* them. I pulled back and narrowed my eyes incredulously.

“Did you say,” I started.

“Fuck me, Gale.”

“I haven’t . . .” He shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter.” He tucked the condom into my hand and nipped at my bottom lip. Then he was on all fours in front of me, pushing his ass back against me, and it didn’t matter anymore. This was Randy, and this was me, and I wanted him so badly I was trembling with it, and I rolled on the condom and lubed two fingers and then slid them inside of him.

He hissed, his forehead against one hand, his spine curved. I ran my other palm over it, fingers skimming the small of his back, the fine blonde hairs there standing on end. I rotated my wrist, crooking the fingers slightly and a groan rumbled through him. When he gasped out my name I pulled my fingers out and positioned myself. I took one last look at the pale skin of Randy’s back. I had been in this position innumerable times before, but so much was different. This time it was for real. No scripts, no cameras, no characters. I pressed into him slowly, and then I was lost.

I don’t know if it was shades of Brian or if my body was just more ready for this than my mind, but I bucked my hips against him like I’d been doing it forever and he rocked back against me in perfect time. He clasped my thigh with hot fingers and I leaned forward to place sloppy wet kisses on his shoulders. It felt familiar. It felt right. I grunted into his hair and he groaned against the carpet and at some point I thought to reach around and jerk him off and he came with such force that I had the vague thought that he was going to give himself whiplash before I followed, snapping my hips and chanting his name.

When it was over I collapsed against him, my cheek sliding on his sweaty skin, still holding his dick, his breathing returning to normal beneath me. Finally he pushed back on my legs and we separated, flushed and groaning slightly at the loss of contact. He removed the condom for me and tied it off, standing slowly and shakily to disappear into the bathroom. I leaned back against the bed in the same position I’d been in when he’d arrived and it hit me then, what had just happened. And I wasn’t as freaked out as maybe I should have been.

I heard the water splashing and he came back with a hand towel to clean up the spot on the floor. He looked up and caught me watching him and there was another brief flash of fear and then a cool hand on my leg. “You still okay?”

“I’m still okay.”

He pulled me to my feet and wrapped his arms around my waist, tucking his head under my chin, rubbing circles with his knuckles. I sighed into his hair, a grin spreading on my face. I was definitely okay.

“We should shower.”

I nodded slightly, my chin scuffing his scalp.

I grew hard again as he washed his hair with the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo. He was slippery and had a trickle of suds down his cheek and I wiped it away and then cupped his balls and he pulled away and got down in front of me and sucked me off while the water rinsed the soap away and then I let him wash my hair because my arms were too limp to do it myself.

Afterwards he climbed in bed with me, rubbing his red, rug-burned knees, and I started to feel guilty.

“Do they hurt?” He shrugged. “What are you going to do about Simon?”

The silence was heavy. He sighed a little and pulled away a little and he bit his thumbnail. Something that he did a lot, and no, it wasn’t a Justin thing. It was a Randy thing. He sighed again. “Well, obviously I’m going to break up with him.”

I tried not to smile. I felt a little sorry for the guy. But just a little. “Okay."

“I feel bad.”

“I know.”

“He really is a nice guy.”

“Okay.”

Randy scooted back against me, his wet hair covering my bicep. “What are you going to do about Jenna?”

“What do you think?”

I watched the corner of his mouth curve up. “Yeah.”

“Should we feel guiltier?”

He laughed a little. “I think that maybe we should. But all I feel right now is well-fucked.”

I grinned. “Well, hey?”

He smacked my thigh. “Don’t be smug.”

I kept grinning.

“You’re asking for it.” When I didn’t stop he rolled on top of me. “I’m giving you fifteen minutes to recover and then I’m going to show you smug.”

When my phone rang at four in the morning I knew it was Randy before I even looked at the screen. I wiped my mouth and stuck the phone between my ear and the pillow. I didn’t even say hello really, just kind of grunted. Then again, he didn’t really need me to do much more.

“I just told him.”

I opened my eyes and shifted in bed, lifting the phone as I twisted to sit up. “Oh?”

There was a shuddering breath in my ear. “Yeah.”

“Did he leave?”

Randy snorted. “Uh, yeah.” I thought to ask how it went, but I figured Randy’d get there in due time. So I used the moments that he was silent to rake my hair back from my forehead and stuff a pillow behind my back. “It didn’t go well.”

“You didn’t expect it to, did you?”

“Well, no. It’s still hard.”

“I’m sure.”

Randy sighed. “It’s not going to be any easier with Jenna.”

I squeezed my eyes shut again. Randy had left two days ago. Simon was out of town and Randy thought he could use the extra time to gather his wits, as well as his shit, before he had to break the news. I was putting off going home. “I’m sure it won’t. Then again you and . . .” I paused, and coughed a little. I still hated saying his name. “You guys have been together much longer than me and Jenna.”

“Yeah, but you’re leaving her for a man. That’s kind of a big issue.”

“I don’t see why. It’s not like I’m leaving her for a dog or a goat.” I scrubbed at my face with one palm.

“Well, Gale, most people don’t see things that way.”

I shrugged even though Randy couldn’t see me. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” He paused for a beat. “I miss you already. Isn’t that the stupidest, girliest thing you’ve ever heard?”

I laughed. “Kind of.” I groped for my cigarettes on the nightstand and lit one. “It’s okay though. I miss you, too.”

Breaking it off with Jenna was definitely not easy. The summer months spent in LA without Randy were harder. We’d travel back and forth as much as possible, but he had his work in NYC and I had mine in LA, and the trips were not as frequent as we’d both have liked. When Randy came in to town we still spent all of our time indoors. And we still stayed up until all hours of the night talking. Except now we’d both be naked and damp from a shower, laying in bed instead of sitting on the couch, Randy’s head on my arm or my chest or my stomach, Randy’s fingers in my hair or trailing along my jaw or pressed against my thigh. And when we weren’t talking we were making out like teenagers, sloppy and groping and flushed and panting. Or fucking anywhere and everywhere. We’d start against the front door or on the tile in the entryway of my apartment, mostly-clothed and with luggage cast aside. Then one of us would be bent over the arm of a sofa or the edge of a table. We were desperate, needy, and we couldn’t get enough of each other.

I thought things would even out, calm down when fall came and we were both in Toronto for the filming of the new season. But when I heard the knock on my door the first day, as I was tossing socks into the top drawer of the dresser, my heart thudded and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears and I loped out of the bedroom and down the hall and flung the front door open.

“Hey.” Randy looked like he’d run up the two flights of stairs even though my building had an elevator. He grinned wide and I let him pass and shut the door.

I barely had time to turn around before Randy had his arms around my waist and his mouth against my throat. I laughed and brushed my lips against his forehead. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” He traced a circle on my neck with the tip of his tongue. “Really good.”

I kept laughing.

The first day we had to be at the studio for a pre-filming meeting, I woke up to find Randy leaning over me, slapping at the alarm clock. He groaned and fell back to the mattress, shoving the sheet down and scooting to the edge of the bed and sitting up. “This is going to be hell. We got what, four hours of sleep?”

“Who's fault is that?”

Randy opened his mouth to protest, then stopped, leaning forward to pull on his jeans. “You suck.”

I stretched my arms up over my head, my fingertips skimming the wall. “You would know.” Randy flipped me off, but with the ghost of a grin. “I’ll get ready really fast and we’ll get coffee on our way to the studio.” I rolled out of bed and went to brush my teeth.

Later we made our way through the halls of the studio, Randy’s coffee coming perilously close to sloshing over the rim of his cup with every step. The door to the conference room at the end of the hall was ajar, and I could hear the buzz of conversation from within. The second we walked in the conversation stuttered to a complete halt, and our co-workers stared at us like we were aliens. I knew my hair was sticking up at odd angles, but really, most of these people had known me for years, and I usually showed up in the morning with ridiculous bed head. I exchanged a glance with Randy, but he looked as puzzled as I was. Then he looked down at our hands, linked between us.

“Oh.” I nodded, and almost let go but then decided that it didn’t matter either way. So I lifted my free hand and waved. “Hey, everyone.”

Randy was blushing six shades of red and he wriggled his fingers loose from mine before ducking under Peter’s outstretched arm. I grinned and slapped Hal on the back.

“So.” Hal tried to cover a giggle with a cough. “How was your hiatus?”

I looked around at the writers and the other members of the cast who were hiding smiles behind hands or scripts or not at all. “Oh come on guys, like you all haven’t been thinking it forever anyway.”

“Well, you know, Gale, thinking it and seeing proof of it are two different things. You have to forgive us if we’re all a little taken aback by the two of you walking in here holding hands like it was the most normal thing on the planet.” Peter gave Randy a squeeze.

“I didn’t think it wasn’t normal.” I folded my arms across my chest.

“So how,” Peter started, and Randy caught my eyes. He didn’t speak, and then Thea came in, smiling and waving and Randy stepped away to greet her. Hal followed, and I was left facing Peter. He lifted his eyebrows.

“Oh come on, Peter! Do I really have to explain?”

“You don’t have to,” he said, drawling the “have”. I heaved a sigh.

I gave him the short version of events, and left out some choice details, and when I was finished he just gave me one of his grins with his lips pushed out and gave me a hug.

“So it’s good then?”

I watched Randy laughing with Hal and then he looked up and met my eye. I smiled and nodded. “It’s better than good. It’s right.”


End file.
